Missing Brooklyn
by toocoolforbeth
Summary: Clary does not want to be here. She's already missing Brooklyn. Could her mind be changed by the towns best known but incredibly attractive delinquent?- High School fic. I know, it's been done before. But I bet you still wanna click the link, don't you?


**Hello. **

**Ugh, I promised myself I wouldn't start another story until I finished Lost Angel. BUT THEN I DID.  
WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME AAAAAARRRGH. **

**Anyway, I always told myself I wouldn't make a High School AU. But then I did. I'm not good at keeping the promises I make to myself, it seems. Oh well. I'll try my hardest to make things exciting and original for you guys, okay? Okay. **

**So, I think that's it.**

**DISCLAIMER: Sometimes, I close my eyes and wish really hard that I could own M.I. However, 80% of the time, it doesn't work. **

**Enjoy. **

Clary did not know how long she had been sitting there, just staring at the ceiling. It was at least four in the morning, and she could see the sun peaking over the horizon through her open bedroom window.

It still felt odd to her to have the window completely open, without even a protective mesh screen or flywire covering it. She had to keep reminding herself that that was how people did it here in Adams, the small town in upstate New York. This was a safe place, where people didn't bolt their doors at night, a place where you didn't need protective mesh over your windows to be safe. This place wasn't anything like Brooklyn.

_Brooklyn. _

Just the thought of it made her heart ache with a type of longing that one might associate with a dead loved one. Okay, so maybe she was being a little dramatic, but with fair reason.

She's lived in the New York City borough her entire life, but she'd been torn away from it and thrown into this unfamiliar world. She missed it. Missed everything about it. She missed the dusty air and the smell of petrol and musty water that came with it. She missed the sound of ambulances and police cars wailing past her –mesh covered- window at night, the traffic and barking dogs. She missed the old Book store and the apartment on top of it that they had lived in. She missed how cramped it had been.

But most of all, she missed Simon, her best friend since kindergarten. She missed Simon ten times more than she missed Brooklyn. If Simon were here, then perhaps she wouldn't feel so lonely. But he wasn't there, and she felt as lonely as ever.

This place was so different to home. The air was crisp and clean, and smelt like leaves and smoke. The only sound she could hear outside her window was the chatter of early morning birds and hushed whisper of the trees as their leaves rustled in the soft breeze. They no longer lived in a cramped apartment on top of a bookstore, but in an old Victorian house, on a quarter acre block.

Okay, if she was being honest, she did love the house. It was hard not to; the old thing was beautiful. It was two stories, with decks on both levels that ran around the entire front and left side of the house. The wooden boards that covered the entire house and the iron lacework were painted cream, but the shutters and the trimmings were teal. The grounds surrounding the building were covered in lush green grass, the soil beds that surrounded the front porch crowded with countless types of brightly coloured flowers; yellow and hot pink tulips, white and red roses, lavender, lilacs, white lilies, red poppies, purple-blue morning glories that climbed the vertical wooden beams that supported the long balcony. Pink cherry blossoms and miniature oak trees lined the white picket fence at the front of the yard, guarding the house from the quiet street beyond. A medium sized oak tree grew close to the house, a thick branch of it running parallel to the deck just outside Clary's window. The entire thing felt like a scene in a fairy tale. A very big, expensive scene. She knew that if it hadn't been for the inheritance that Jocelyn- her mother- had sitting in a bank since before Clary was even born, they would not have been able to afford a place like this.

But, not even Clary could deny that it was incredibly beautiful. And that was just the outside. This inside was just as gorgeous as the exterior, with its glossy woods in a wide array of shades. Wallpaper depicting singing birds and drooping lavenders decorated the bottom floor, while creamy vintage designs adorned the top.

Clary's room was rather lovely, but too girly for her liking. The wallpaper in her room was a light dusty brown, with a pattern of winding cherry flowers. Her curtains were white gauze. A glass lamp fitting blown into the shape of a rose hung in the centre of the white, ornate ceiling. The furniture was simple teak, most of it brought over from their old apartment.

Despite the fact they had been there for almost two weeks, not everything had been unpacked yet; there were still books to be stacked in the bookcase, clothes to be folded or hung in the wardrobe. Boxes were stacked against the far wall, beneath the window. She almost didn't want to unpack them; unpacking held a sort of permanency in it, as though if her stuff were still in boxes then there was the possibility that they might go home.

Clary was snapped out of her reverie by the sound of a baby crying, from the room across the hall. She scowled.

This was all her fault.

If it hadn't been for Charlotte, then Luke, her stepfather, and Jocelyn would never have wanted to leave Brooklyn, and Clary wouldn't be in this situation. But no, Luke and Jocelyn wanted their youngest daughter to grow up in a nice, pretty town with a big yard and clean air. Personally, Clary thought that Brooklyn was a fine place to grow up. She had lived the first sixteen years of her life there, why couldn't Charlotte? Taking a deep breath, she waited for one of her parents to go to the baby.

Nobody did.

Clary knew what they were doing; trying to get her to go to sleep on her own. It was called "sleep training" or something. Well, that was all fine and dandy for them, but Clary had to go to school – her _first day_ at a new school – tomorrow, and there was no way she was getting any sleep with that racket.

Groaning, Clary pulled herself out from underneath her thick, white bedding, and stumbled out, across the hall, and into the baby's nursery. Switching on the yellow floor lamp by the doorway, Clary closed the door behind her. A soft glow illuminated the space between her and the cot underneath the window. She made her way through the room towards her 9 month old sister, who was full blown wailing by now, gripping the cot bars with her chubby pink hands.

"There, there," Clary cooed, reaching into the crib and scooping up the baby. Charlotte cried into Clary's shoulder as she held her to her chest. Humming under her breath, Clary oscillated slowly, smoothing down her surprisingly thick – for a baby- light brown curls. She didn't like to admit it, but Clary hated the whole "sleep training" thing. It was cruel. Babies needed to be loved and coddled and given attention. Not ignored and left to fend for themselves before they're even a year old. And it hurt Clary, to hear her little sister crying so desperately. It did funny things to her breathing. She didn't like it.

After what seemed like hours, Charlotte finally settled, and Clary lay her, ever so carefully, back down in her crib. She wondered, idly, if she and Charlotte would ever be friends, the way Simon was with his sister. Maybe not. Maybe the age gap would be too large, and she would just be that ominous older sister that sent cards on birthdays but only turned up every second Christmas.

Clary did end up getting a couple hours of sleep, but it was all too soon when her alarm went off, clicking automatically to the daily weather and traffic for Manhattan. She was momentarily comforted by the familiar sound of DJ Stan, but as the radio grew louder and louder, she knew she would have to get up and face the music.

Peeling herself out of the bed, she pulled on a pair of dark wash jeans, a grey tee shirt and a black and blue striped jumper that hung loosely on her thin frame. In the bathroom, she washed her face with cold water, hoping the chill would wake her up. It did, but not much. Once her face was dry, quickly ran a brush through her short, dark red hair.

A few weeks ago her hair had been long, all the way down to her elbows. Her mother had always told her that she loved her hair, so when Jocelyn told her they were moving, Clary, in a fit of defiance, had marched into the bathroom, taken a pair of kitchen scizzors , and chopped it all off. It had done the job all right; Jocelyn had been horrified. But once things had calmed down, Clary began to regret the decision, so Jocelyn, unable to bear seeing her eldest daughter cry, had taken her down to the nearest hair salon, and gotten them to trim it into something decent. That had been the biggest fight they had had since Jocelyn married Luke, and luckily things had been pretty clam since then, if not slightly strained. Perhaps they had needed that fight; to unload all the tension of the move before it built into something big and destructive.

In fact, she actually quite liked her hair now; it was short, about an inch above her shoulders, and she had managed a way of styling her curls so that they flicked somewhat outwards. It was cute; kind of like a hairdo you might have seen in the fifties.

And that was pretty much where Clary's interest in her looks stopped. It wasn't that she didn't care what she looked like; she did. She just didn't care enough to put on makeup or spend half an hour in front of the mirror in the morning.

Grabbing her back pack – a white and black thing scattered with gamers pins Simon had given her- she headed downstairs towards the kitchen, where Luke and Jocelyn were already waiting. Luke was cooking bacon on the stove, while Jocelyn buttered toast on the island next to him. Jocelyn looked up as Clary threw herself down into one of the chairs at the kitchen table.

"Good morning sweetheart," She said brightly, piling the pieces of toast onto a plate and carrying it with her to the table. "Are you excited about your first day?" Clary shrugged, noncommittally.

"I guess so." She reached forward to snatch up a piece of buttery bread, "It's easier, I guess, because it's first day of term. So at least I don't have to catch up or anything."

"Oh good," Clary's mother beamed, a little too brightly, "I'm glad to hear that." Jocelyn's smile faded as she sat down gingerly in the chair across from Clary.

_Uh oh_, Clary thought, seeing the look on her mother's face. That look could only mean one thing; they were about to have a "very serious talk". Clary hated her mother's "very serious talks". They were often painful, and always awkward.

"Now," Jocelyn's voice was very soft, as if she were afraid that using a harsh tone or speaking too loudly would scare Clary away, like a baby deer, "I want to talk to you about last night. With Charlotte."

_Of course. _She should have known that she would be mad about someone disturbing Charlottes sleep training.

"Oh, I'm sorry Mom," She began her usual routine of sucking up to her mother; she'd learnt a long time ago that it was just best to keep her mother happy, no matter how much you disagree with her, "I know I shouldn't have messed up her-" She was interrupted.

"Oh no Clary," It was Luke, coming up behind her, placing a large, rough hand on her shoulder, "We're not mad. We're actually thrilled you're taking an interest in your little sister." Clary didn't know what to say. That was not what she'd been expecting, to say the least.

"Anyway," Luke continued, "We're glad you're willing to step up and take action when it's needed. Maybe we'll get you to babysit sometime."

"Oh, uh cool." Clary shrugged, "Sure. Why not?"

The rest of the morning went by, relatively uneventful. Jocelyn gave Clary a pile of school stuff – thick notebooks, a new sketchpad for art class, water colour pencils, a chemistry textbook and enough pens to sink a ship- as well as ten bucks for lunch, which she stashed inside her Domo wallet.

Adams didn't have a school bus that came around to everyone's house, so Clary was forced to use her mother's old black bicycle. It was a creaky old thing, but the breaks worked and Luke had pumped the tyres for her a few days ago, so it would have to do.

The ride to school was oddly pleasant, but Clary couldn't seem to let herself enjoy the fresh air or the blue sky, with its puffy white clouds. She couldn't help but wonder how on Earth she was going to survive an entirely new school in an entirely new place where she knew literally no-one without Simon by her side. Not once had she been forced to walk into a new school without him. They'd been going to the same schools since they were five.

Finally, she arrived at the school. It was a smallish, surprisingly new looking square red brick building. It must have fit only about seven hundred kids in it. There was absolutely nothing about it that stood out from any other high school she had seen. That thought was slightly comforting.

Clary swerved through the parking lot towards the bike rack, careful to remain inconspicuous. She noticed, however, as she chained her bike to the rack, that despite her best efforts, people seemed to be staring at her anyway. She could feel their eyes burning into the back of her neck. She suddenly felt the urge to fold inwards on herself and crumple into nonexistence. She had never liked being looked at.

"Don't worry about them," Clary spun around to come face to face with a short, curvy girl, with skin like maple syrup and hair like honey, tied in a messy bun at the base of her neck. Clary gaped at her,

"What?" She asked, despite the fact that she had heard her perfectly the first time.

"I said, 'Don't worry about them." The other girl smiled, indicating, with a slight sweep of the arm, to the teenagers around them, "They're just all hyped up because hardly anything interesting ever happens around here." Clary couldn't help but smirk as she swung her bag up onto her right shoulder.

"Am I interesting," She asked. Maia shrugged.

"You're interesting because you're new. The novelty will wear off soon." She frowned, "No offense or anything." Clary laughed.

"None taken. I'm Clary by the way." The dark blonde stuck out her hand in an odd, but charming gesture.

"Maia. Have you gotten your schedule yet?" Clary shook her head.

"Come on then, I'll take you to Student Services."

As they walked, they talked with vigour. Maia was very interested in Brooklyn and Manhattan, firing her with a thousand questions she tried her hardest to answer fully. Clary learnt that Maia lived in a small house on the other side of town with her mom and dad. She had a dog named Gretel. She liked video games, but not RPG's. She reminded Clary of Simon, minus the RPG part (Simon was a sucker for World of War Craft).

By the time they had collected Clary's schedule and headed off to form, which she and Maia had together, Clary was beginning to feel slightly less hopeless. Maia was nice, and didn't seem to be going anywhere in a rush.

Perhaps this place wouldn't be so bad after all.

**SO WHADDYA THINK?**

**Here's the deal. You can consider this as a kind of sneak peak. But I'm not going to upload anymore chapters until I finish Lost Angel, okay? I don't want to have too many stories on the go at one time. **

**But I'd still really love it if you reviewed. I love reviews. Everyone who reviews gets a chocolate cake and a cyber hug from me **

**Please review! **

**Love, Beth. **


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